Fear
by Starherd
Summary: In achieving dreams, suffering. In the end, breaking. Kadaj, Yazoo, and Loz, sanity optional, violence definite, yaoi in the eye of the beholder.


**Disclaimer:** At end of story

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**Fear**

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He'd never told them exactly what he dreamed. Sometimes, he didn't remember himself, and he was glad of that. Other times he remembered all too clearly. But dreams were always frightening, never pleasant. The waking world was solace - the dreaming world was better forgotten.

Sometimes he knew that what he dreamed was true, or would be true, and those were so often the dreams from which he awoke screaming.

He wished that he'd told them. He wished desperately that he'd confided in his brothers and taken the comfort that they'd always offered. If he'd told them it would have meant more when they held him and spoke softly to him.

Why had they failed him by never forcing him to tell?

And now he was without them, and dreaming while awake, and he couldn't stop.

He could see them, his brothers, burned and broken and still fighting for their lives. For his sake. They wanted nothing but to reach him, but others stood in their way.

He watched them fall in the explosion, watched them crawl from the wreckage, first Loz and then Yazoo. They could barely even stand, much less walk, much less fight, leathers torn and blood flowing.

And then their opponents were on them, striking without mercy, glorying in destroying his brothers. His family.

Loz fell first; Kadaj heard a cracking sound, saw his head bleeding, saw him stumble once and hit the pavement. Watched him convulse for a moment, struggling without direction, before his enemy struck him again...

He couldn't cry out for them, couldn't make a sound. Couldn't help.

More wet cracking sounds, and Yazoo was down as well, impaled on a broken rebar and unable to free himself. His opponent's weapon gleamed in sunlight, flashed as it struck, and Yazoo's body bowed and trembled with the shock of electricity. Again, and once more, and Yazoo's head slumped forward, hair hiding his stricken face. He didn't move again.

He could smell the ozone and the burnt flesh and blood and he felt sick with it. He never had before. It had never been like this before.

There was nothing he could do but watch, and it hurt in a way that physical pain never could. It made his breath catch and made his eyes sting and made him crave ending in a way nothing else ever had.

Loz was moving, trying to reach Yazoo - dragging himself forward with one unbroken arm. Could barely lift his head. The enemy struck at him again, but he wouldn't stop. Blood trailed thick in his wake as he inched forward. The sounds that he made were as painful as seeing him.

And then the enemy was on him again, grinding him into the asphalt, and one of them grabbed up a chunk of concrete and brought it smashing down and Loz's legs twitched and -

It wasn't real. It couldn't be real. He was here, among the ruins, climbing, gripping the jagged edges tightly with his free hand. His fingers slipped, paralyzed by what he could see that wasn't happening, hadn't happened, was nothing but fear made manifest... wasn't real. He could still feel his brothers, together, coming closer; he silently screamed for them with every fiber of his being.

He reached the top of the rise and stood, breathing hard, blinking away the horrors that boiled in his mind.

Only one. Only one came to answer his call. Neither Loz nor Yazoo.

"Brother!" Kadaj called down, broken black box cradled against him, the tears on his cheeks drying in the wind. "I'm with Her at last!"

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**Disclaimer: **The Final Fantasy VII compilation (in particular, Advent Children), its story, and characters are the property, copyright and trademark of Square Electronic Arts L.L.C., and no ownership or claim on said property, copyright or trademark is made or implied by their use in the work(s) of fan fiction presented here. This fan fiction constitutes a personal comment on the aforesaid properties pursuant to doctrines of fair use and fair comment. This fan fiction is non-commercial, not for sale or profit, and may not be sold or reproduced for commercial purposes.


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